A Knight No More
by LitRaptor42
Summary: Family is the most important thing in the world: but that doesn't make giving up your dreams any easier. Oscar's discharge from the Royal Knights, and then some.
1. By Three Lengths

Did you ever have one of those stories that just _came_ to you, and if you didn't write it down it would disappear? Yeah. This one almost wrote itself. I hope I'm not stepping on Elchi's toes, but..... whatever, I'll stop before Mal says "Yeah. He's my hero."

I might add another chapter about the brothers meeting Greil and Titania, if I figure out how to keep it from being incredibly depressing.

(I don't own Fire Emblem, blah blah blah disclaimer.)

* * *

He was so exhausted it was difficult to see straight, and would have been more than happy to retire to bed, dusty and victorious. But, like all the other knights, when the post rider strode in the door and announced, "Post!", Oscar leapt from his bunk to join the mob.

As the man called out the names on the letters, Oscar saw someone approaching him out of the corner of his eye. It was another knight, a swordsman by the name of Erk. Blearily, Oscar wondered if he'd missed his name, and waited for the blue-haired young man to hand him a letter. But the knight just grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. "That was a great race today, Oscar!"

Instantly he felt more alert, and drew back his shoulders proudly. "Thanks. Was it close? All I know is that I pulled ahead at the last minute."

"No, no," said Erk, shaking his head. "Three lengths! You won solid." Then he laughed. "Well, congratulations! From what I hear, Prince Renning and General Geoffrey saw the last half of it. They were coming down to inspect troops, but decided it would be better to watch the competition."

"Really?" asked Oscar. His mouth suddenly felt dry. "Did they... do you know if they said anything?"

Erk shrugged, one eye back on the post rider. "I didn't hear so, but I'll bet they were impressed. It was a good race." He sighed, and his grin turned rueful. "I suppose I should go console poor Kieran. He'll be inconsolable."

"Okay," Oscar agreed, though privately he'd felt that if looks could kill, he would've been dead for quite awhile. He wasn't terribly familiar with Kieran, and it had come as somewhat of a surprise when the red-haired knight had challenged him to a race. He'd been very polite about losing, of course, shaking hands and congratulating Oscar afterwards... but Oscar had gotten the distinct feeling that it had been for everyone else's benefit, and that all night that Kieran's eyes had been fixed on him, glaring.

"Lieutenant, Twelfth Regiment, Oscar!" called out the post rider suddenly, and he turned his head to see a ragged letter waving above the other soldiers' heads.

"Over here!" he answered, and it was passed back to him. He retreated to his bunk and opened the letter.

* * *

"Tomorrow morning we'll do the inspection," Renning said, but with a smile. "There's really no hurry: it's just protocol. I'm sure they're all well-prepared. Particularly judging from today's performance."

"Yes," Geoffrey answered, allowing himself a small smile. What an adventure that had been. Tradition allowed the young recruits to challenge one another, so long as the fights were conducted honorably, but the intense race they'd seen today had been almost motivational.

Apparently the crown prince agreed. "Honestly, this is a wonderful young group of men and women. I'm so glad to see that they show motivation through friendly competition." Renning yawned, then hastily covered it with one hand. "My apologies. I should be retiring now - you should do the same. Spread the word among the troops, though, that inspection is tomorrow just after lunch, and that the final round of training should begin sometime next week."

"Yes, sir," said Geoffrey, bowing ever so slightly. Renning smiled, then retreated from the room. Geoffrey knew that the crown prince preferred to keep an informal relationship with his troops, but it was very difficult to repress the urge to bow profoundly in front of royalty. And Geoffrey was still somewhat new at actually working with those who held the reins of power - sometimes he hardly counted Elincia amongst the Crimean royalty, so laid-back was her relationship with his sister.

Just as he sat down to the desk to write himself a note, there was a soft knock on the door. He looked up, and saw the chambermaid. "Yes, Anna?"

"One of the recruits to see you, General," was all she said.

Geoffrey frowned. "It's a bit late. Whoever he or she is, they should be in their quarters sleeping."

"I know, sir, I apologize," Anna said, bobbing in a curtsy. "But he said it's an urgent matter, and that it wouldn't take much time."

"All right, then. Thank you," said Geoffrey, mystified.

She retreated; immediately one of the young knights entered. "Lieutenant, what is it?" asked Geoffrey, feeling annoyed. He hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but this was technically against protocol.

The young man took a deep breath, and stated, "Sir, I wish to resign my commission."

It took a moment for Geoffrey to realize what the young man had just said; he was further struck dumb as he recognized the green-clad lance knight who had won the race today. Finally, he found his voice. "Lieutenant... Oscar? What's this nonsense?"

The young man didn't answer at first; finally he repeated, but with less conviction, "Sir... I wish to resign my commission."

Geoffrey stood, and moved around the desk to study the young man's face. Its expression was tight, and if Geoffrey wasn't reading it wrong, it was also tear-stained. Hastily cleaned-up, of course, for speaking with the commander, but something was amiss. "Lieutenant. In the course of my service to the House of Crimea, only one knight has ever resigned. Can you give me a reason as to why you would give up the most lucrative position a man of your age could hope to gain?"

The young lieutenant hesitated. Geoffrey could clearly see the letter clutched in his left hand; its corners were trembling. "It is for personal reasons, General, that I must leave the army."

"What personal reasons?" Geoffrey asked, very gently. "Lieutenant, I saw the race today. You're clearly very talented, as well as committed. What news have you had that's caused this change of mind?"

Evidently it was beyond words, since after a moment the young man merely held out the letter. Geoffrey held out a hand for it, watching the lieutenant's face as he took it. The young man just stared at the floor, face tight, expression hopeless. Geoffrey sighed and looked down at the paper.

_Dear Brother,_ it read, _I don't know what to do. Father was hurt in a fight with bandits, Mother left two nights ago and hasn't come back. By the time you get this Father might already have died, the town healer says he doesn't have long. One of the old ladies from town is caring for Rolf, but I don't know what's going to happen if Father dies and Mother doesn't come back. Can you come home? Love your brother, Boyd._

Geoffrey studied the letter for another moment, then looked up. "How old are your brothers?"

The young lieutenant's brows contracted, and his lips were white when he answered. "Boyd is almost fifteen. Rolf is six."

"And your mother left them with a dying father and no one else to care for them?" Geoffrey asked.

"She's not my mother," was the instant reply. Oscar finally looked up, and the candlelight caught the tear-tracks, hastily rubbed away but still ever so slightly evident. "Yes, she's Rolf's mother. Father was... she..." His face broke suddenly, and he turned away.

Geoffrey put the letter on the desk, and reached forward to put a hand on the young knight's shoulder. It was shaking. "Lieutenant," he said softly. "You don't need to resign your commission." The young man looked up at him, and he added, "In cases such as these we usually give an honorable discharge. This is a time of peace, and it's quite evident that your family needs you more than we do."

Relief dawned on the lieutenant's face, and Geoffrey added, "And after a time, when your family problems have been alleviated, perhaps you may return to the Royal Knights."

The young man sniffed, quite bravely, and stood up straight. "Thank you, sir." He saluted neatly, tears notwithstanding. "I would... May I request permission to leave immediately?"

"You may, and permission granted." Geoffrey turned to rummage for a scrap of paper on the desk. "I don't think you can be granted an escort, but under the circumstances I think you must return home immediately. Which horse did you ride today?"

The young knight looked taken aback, but answered, "A bay mare called Lille."

"I will log that your horse has been given an honorable discharge as well," Geoffrey said, scribbling down a reminder to do the paperwork in the morning. Then he threw down the quill and turned to stand in front of the other knight once more. "There is no formal ceremony. You may leave the barracks as soon as necessary."

His salute was snappily returned. The relief and gratitude on the young man's face was so clear that Geoffrey almost stepped forward to embrace the poor fellow. But he merely nodded as Oscar said, "Thank you, sir," one more time, and watched as the young knight left the room.

He shook his head. The letter had been left behind on the desk, and he picked it up once more. _Can you come home? Love your brother, Boyd._

"It always seems to be the most talented ones who have the most difficulty," he said aloud to himself, then closed the letter into his ledger to save for the next day.


	2. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

No joke, even before your comment I was dying to write this part, Elchi! Fortunately due to your fanart you've got first dibs on the death of their father. Con...grats? (Though I suppose this isn't any less depressing.)

Too insanely long, I know. But... it ends happily!  
(No more Oscar-Boyd-Rolf for awhile after this. Whew.)

* * *

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

* * *

"Please?" Oscar asked desperately, knowing already that it wasn't going to happen. "He'll be fifteen next month, he's strong, and I promise--"

"No." Fado threw his cleaning cloth down on the counter and pointed a finger at Oscar, eyebrows fierce and furry. "Just because you went off and got all shiny in armor with the Royal Knights doesn't mean you can get away with everything in this town, young man. I can't take your brother into my shop, and that's final!"

Oscar took a deep breath, and without bothering to argue any further, walked out of the shop into the sunlight. He turned his face up to it for a moment, hoping it might cheer him. But the knowledge that he had nowhere else to look was devastating. It was a bad time for the village, that much was clear: many of their old friends were practically starving, and those village leaders who had once been the most sympathetic were now suspicious.

He sighed and starting trudging back down the street, toward their home. The shopkeeper to whom he'd just spoken, Fado, had never been the most overtly friendly of men, but he'd always been fair. Now, with poverty closing its grip around the village, Fado's normal reserve had turned almost to hostility. Oscar had known before he went in that the man didn't have the money to take on an extra employee... but he'd had to try.

And the goddess only knew, it would've been a pain to find new employment for Boyd even in good times. It wasn't that his brother was stupid, Oscar reflected, quite the opposite... but his was a mind more bent towards the practical things rather than anything that required organization or concentration. He excelled, in short, at activity. He'd even had some moderate success while Oscar was gone, working in the forest as an apprentice to a woodsman... but with the bandit attacks, the poverty striking, and their father's illness, Boyd had given up the job to someone else to take care of Rolf. And subsequently couldn't get it back when Oscar had returned.

The sunlight glinted off something, catching Oscar's eye, and he found his pace slowing at the sight of the woman speaking to Jord at the smithy. She was stunning, if of average height, red braid flowing down past her waist. Her white armor, while somewhat tarnished and worn from usage, was what had caught his eye, shining like silver in the midday sun.

The urge was almost overwhelming to go speak with her: clearly she was a former Royal Knight, too, and his longing just to know that someone else might be in his position almost took over. But he kept walking, somewhat less slowly after a moment, knowing that ten minutes might make all the difference between his brothers getting a hot dinner before nightfall and having to cook in the dark. The two younger brothers had gone hunting together, and he could only pray they'd found something, or it would be the third day in a row of nothing but vegetables.

* * *

The house was practically falling apart, and clearly looked it, too. He hadn't had time to fix the shingles or repair the door since coming home, and Boyd, while quite useful at chopping wood, keeping a fire lit, and on the occasion, hunting, usually just ended up hurting himself when it came to handyman jobs.

"Did you guys get anything?" Oscar called as he came in the front door. No need to say "It's me!" or anything: no one but the three of them ever came this far out of town anymore.

There was no answer at first. Then Boyd yelled, "Yeah, we did. But... it's not my fault!"

"It's not mine, either!" wailed Rolf, sniffling. "Oscaaaaar!"

Oscar groaned, and walked into the bedroom. Boyd was kneeling on the floor in front of the bed, tying a clumsy bandage around their younger brother's leg. Oscar was relieved to see that there was almost no blood, but still...

He crossed over to them and firmly lifted Rolf into his lap, sitting back down. "It's okay, Rolf, it doesn't look bad at all. What happened?"

"We were.. hunting," Rolf explained bravely, sniffling. "And I was trying to keep up with Boyd, because he'd found some rabbits, but I tripped."

Boyd was looking somewhat red in the face, and Oscar knew without asking that he hadn't been watching Rolf very closely. But he didn't say anything, just ruffled his little brother's hair and said, "Well, you're okay, right? Buck up, Rolf, you'll be just fine. You said you did get something, Boyd?"

Boyd looked up, face less embarrassed, and said proudly, "Yeah! I got the two rabbits."

Oscar smiled at him, and Boyd's shoulders dropped in relief. "Well then, see? Looks like we'll eat in high style tonight." He lifted Rolf from his lap. "Rolf, could you go get me some herbs from the garden outside? You know what basil and rosemary look like."

"Yeah!" Rolf exclaimed, and ran toward the door, without even a sign of a limp. Of course, he wouldn't, though. Oscar was always amazed at how much his brothers tried to impress him, now that he was home. Well, that probably wouldn't last very long: sooner or later they'd want to do something exciting, and he'd have to stop them. And Boyd was a teenager, after all: it was surprising he hadn't already started being sullen.

As he'd expected, Boyd went silently to fetch a bucket of water without even being asked. But he hadn't even pulled the saucepan down from the cupboard when Boyd came back into the kitchen and awkwardly said, "Look, I'm sorry about it. Maybe it was my fault. He's just clumsy, you know?"

"He's a little kid, that's how they are," Oscar said, but mildly. "He seems fine. Honestly, I think I'd be more upset if you hadn't got the rabbits, too."

There was a pause, then Boyd asked, "You didn't find me a job, did you?" Oscar looked over in surprise to find his teenage brother looking at him unhappily.

Well, no point in hiding it. "No, I didn't. Fado can't afford to take on any more help. Was it all over my face?"

"Yeah." He stood watching as Oscar pulled out a couple of knives to chop the cabbage. "I really want to find one, too. You're much better with Rolf than I am, you should be the one at home."

"I know." The thought of being cooped up in one place all day was interminibly depressing: but then, if he were home all the time, Rolf would spend most days uninjured and at least the house would get fixed. "It's just a bad time. When we, the whole town, recovers from those bandits, things will get better, don't worry."

It was only half a lie, he reflected: while things would get better if the town recovered, it was unlikely that they would. It was a remote part of the country, even with a good crop yield there was nothing to do with it. Oscar had learned enough about supply and demand to know that no amount of successful harvests could compete with moderate harvests in a more-traveled town.

He steeled himself to the idea of it, sighing. They would just have to go on the poor register. At least three of the town's families had done it in the last month. But it stung his pride a little to know that they would be accepting charity, nothing less and nothing more. As long as they didn't have to sell Lille, he told himself firmly. That would be the absolute worst case.

Rolf ran back in clutching a handful of plants: "Those look fantastic," Oscar said. "Think you two can chop them up with the carrots while I skin the rabbits?"

"Yeah!" they chorused, and Boyd grinned at his little brother, a little bashfully. And it was that moment that Oscar knew it didn't matter what happened, as long as they had each other.

* * *

He couldn't sleep that night. Visions of the red-haired woman kept prodding into his mind, and he wished now that he'd stopped to ask her just one question, maybe two. "Are you from Crimea? How long ago were you in the knights? Did you know General Geoffrey?" He shook his head and rolled over. That wouldn't do any good: if he even went back to the smithy tomorrow she would certainly be gone.

And he might as well just stay home tomorrow and try and replace some of the shingles. They were all sleeping in the same room now, since the roof in Boyd and Rolf's room had started leaking. And besides that, he hadn't wanted to take over their father's bedroom alone, using the huge four-poster bed like a king. He'd only been home for a month now, but Oscar knew he couldn't contain his cabin fever for much longer. Every day it was a struggle not to leap on Lille and ride off into the country, find someplace better where they could move, to get out of this terrible old house to which his brothers were still so attached.

The next week could only be worse, too. Going to the magistrate and asking to be put on the poor register... Oscar had never considered himself egotistical in the least, but this hurt. After doing so well in the Knights, too...

Memories of that last race flooded back, and he opened to them with relief. Anything to stop thinking about now, what he had to do next. The turf pounding under Lille's hooves, her quick movements as he leaned forward in the saddle, urging her on... the other knights cheering as he took a quick look over his shoulder, seeing the red-haired knight struggling to catch up... his breath coming quick as his horse's as they neared the finish line...

Oscar woke suddenly, realizing he'd finally fallen asleep. With the painfully drowsy clarity that comes from a brief slumber, he noticed that Boyd's half of the bed was empty. He sat up, hanging his legs over the edge of the bed, and groaned. Ugh. It must be near midnight, from the moonlight outside, but he knew he wouldn't sleep anymore.

He knelt next to Rolf for a short moment, tucking his little brother's blankets over him again and kissing his forehead. Poor kid had been shivering from kicking his blankets off. Now, where had Boyd gone off to? Oscar tiptoed out of the room, checked his brothers' old room. No, not there. Abruptly he knew, and sighed. Boyd had obviously gone to their father's grave.

The air was cool and refreshing outside, and Oscar felt much more awake. As he walked towards the edge of the wood, he could see Boyd already, kneeling before the small stone they'd put up. His shoulders were slumped and shaking.

"Hey," Oscar said quietly, putting a hand on Boyd's shoulder. "Are you all right?"

"I'm... I'm fine," Boyd said instantly, wiping his face unashamedly. "I just... I wanted to talk to Father, that's all."

Oscar sat down next to his brother, ignoring the dew seeping into his pants. "Sorry to interrupt. Just... making sure you're okay."

Boyd didn't answer, but just hung his head. The sounds of night surrounded them, creaks, squeaks, crackles, the cheeping of crickets. It could have been peaceful, but Oscar would have given anything for a roaring fire and twenty other young men singing.

Finally Boyd spoke, breaking the quiet very simply; "I miss him."

"Me, too," said Oscar quietly, looking at the stone. It was shadowed, but the moon was bright enough to read their father's name, and the inscription 'Beloved Father and Husband.' Well, he had been a good husband, after all: it was just his wives who were awful. "You probably miss him even more than I do. I hadn't seen him for almost six years." Truth be told, he had barely thought of his family in those six years, though he'd written faithfully every week.

"And he was all that held us together sometimes," Boyd added, in a very small voice. He was already crying again, Oscar could see.

He put an arm around his brother. "I know. I'm sorry I didn't get home sooner, Boyd. I might've been able to help."

"Maybe with the bandits," was all Boyd said.

They sat for a long time, each lost in his own thoughts, each silently unwilling to admit how miserable this was. Oscar's mind ran fervently with options: there was no way to return to the Knights yet. But there had to be other ways to get by. They could move to another part of the country, or go to Gallia. Oscar had never been beyond Crimea, but he heard that there were opportunities in Gallia, the country of the beasts.

Finally he sighed, unable to bear the silence any longer. "Come on. Let's go back in before Rolf wakes up, or before we catch a chill." Boyd got up silently, casting one longing glance back at the grave, and they went back to the house.

* * *

For the first time in weeks, the sound of weapons clanging woke Oscar from his dreams of horses. He sat straight up in bed: Boyd was still snoring, Rolf rolled up in his trundle. No, it wasn't his imagination: outside the window he could hear not only metal on metal, but voices, too. "Back off!" he heard clearly, as he threw on a shirt, pulled on his boots, and ran to the door.

He gaped at the sight before him. The red-headed knight of the day before was at the edge of the road that led back to the town, on horseback and surrounded by four men. Her axe glinted blindingly as she swung it back and forth in the sunshine; even from this far away, though, Oscar could see that she was far outnumbered, especially since the men carried swords.

One of the men swung at her horse, which whinnied, bucking high in the air, and she was thrown off. Oscar glanced over at his own horse, who was pawing at the ground and snorting, displeased with the noise. Watching as the red-haired woman rose from the ground, axe cleaving great circles through the air, Oscar's mind suddenly flashed to a decision. He ran to Lille, and opened the paddock door; one of his old discarded lances lay by, a remnant of practice with his father. He grabbed it and leapt onto Lille's back.

The men hadn't yet noticed him, and as he kicked Lille to a gallop, letting out a high-pitched, ululating scream and raising his weapon over his head. One of the bandits dropped his weapon and fled immediately; another one stood, gaping, and was cut down by the red-headed woman's axe. The other two assessed the situation, and before he had even reached the woman's side, they too fled.

The urge was incredible to chase after them and stab them in the back, but Oscar's sense finally kicked in, and he reined Lille to a halt, then jumped off.

"Whew," said the woman, and leaned over on her axe, panting. "I... can't thank you enough... young man."

"It was no-" he said, managing only three words before his voice broke from the screaming. They both laughed, and she stood straight to take the hand he offered. "It was my pleasure."

"Normally I'm not quite so stupid, but I got turned around on my way back from the smithy, and evidently I look quite well-off..." She held out an arm, face rueful. "So, here I am. My name is Titania, by the way."

"Oscar," he answered, feeling vaguely awed as she tossed back that impressively huge braid. "Were you... were you a Crimean knight?"

"Yes, indeed," she answered. Picking up her axe and putting a foot in one stirrup, she mounted her now-calm horse. "Whoa, boy. Yes, I was a knight, a while ago. Oscar, I must go now, but I thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I'm a mercenary, and the group I'm with should be in town for another day or so. If there is anything you need, any favor I can do for you between now and then, don't hesitate to seek me out."

"Who should I ask for?" he called after her.

"Ask for Titania, or for Greil!" she shouted, and with that, disappeared around a bend in the woods. Oscar just stared after her, heart bursting.

It was a very long moment before he realized that Boyd was calling his name from inside the house. "Oscar! Oscar, come in quick! Something's wrong with Rolf!"

Dread filled his heart, and immediately he dropped the lance, running to the door. Boyd had carried their little brother out of the bedroom. It was an infection, that much was clear. Poor Rolf was hot, alternately shaking with chills and burning with fever, eyes glassy, too ill even to cry. There was also no doubt about what had caused the illness: his leg had swelled up around the cut, hot to the touch. "We have to go into town, find a healer," Boyd said desperately.

Oscar's heart sank. They had barely any money left, not enough to pay the town healer, anyway. Perhaps... Well, it would just have to be that. He closed his eyes momentarily, feeling as if he himself could cry. "All right. Let's go. You can ride with Rolf, I'll lead Lille."

Going outside, he found Lille just where he'd left her, now with her head down in a patch of clover. It was all he could do to keep from flinging his arms around her and weeping. "Hello, girl," he said quietly, patting her flank. She snorted, neck rippling, obviously content. Who would it be? Probably one of the farmers, or one of the merchants. Fado's brother-in-law had been eyeing Lille for some time, his own having been retired after far too long. But to have Lille, this magnificent war-horse, be yoked behind a plow, to slave for the rest of her life... it was almost too much to bear.

Then something occurred to him, and his heart sprang open with hope. "What do you think of mercenary business, Lille?" he asked, as Boyd came outside, carrying Rolf.

* * *

It took some asking around, but Oscar finally found them: camped at the edge of the town, their white tents weren't exactly inconspicuous, if you knew where to look.

"Why are we here?" Boyd finally asked, having kept quiet for most of the ride, trying to keep Rolf comfortable atop the horse. "Do they have a better healer?"

"I don't know," Oscar answered. The thought had never occurred to him, and now he considered that in addition to his other plan. "But we don't have enough money for the town healer. I think these people... they would take good care of Lille, if I sold her to them."

Boyd just gaped and looked sick. "But... we can't sell your horse, Oscar."

"If we have to, then we will," Oscar said firmly. His stomach still roiled at the thought of selling Lille, but somewhere in his heart he knew that Titania, if no one else in this mercenary troop, would take good care of her.

Boyd handed down their younger brother to dismount from the horse, and then immediately took him back. Rolf's head tossed, and he moaned as they approached the small group of men and women sitting around a campfire. The sound of his little brother dying struck Oscar's heart with terror, and he swallowed. "Blessed Ashera, let these people help us," he whispered. Boyd's face was white as he patted Rolf's back.

The others noticed their approach, and it was with relief that Oscar saw Titania getting up to greet them. She was followed closely by an older man, grim-faced and stern, yet somehow not frightening.

"Come to reclaim your debt already?" Titania said cheerfully as they stopped. "Commander Greil, this is the young man I was just telling you about, Oscar, who saved stupid yours truly from bandits this morning."

"Indeed," was all her commander said. Oscar felt himself standing straighter in the man's presence. For all the world, it was like standing in front of Prince Renning! "We can't thank you enough, young man. We're all like family here, and we would have been grieved to lose Titania." He held out a hand, and Oscar automatically took it. "Is there something you want of us?"

Oscar swallowed again, hoping his voice didn't come out too weak. "Sir, our brother is very sick, and we don't have any money. If you please, we'd like to... sell our horse to you."

The commander looked at Boyd, whose eyes remained downturned, then turned back to Oscar. "Do your mother and father have no money, either?"

"Our parents are dead," said Boyd abruptly, voice wavering, then eventually steady. "Our father died last month. Oscar had to leave the Royal Knights to come home."

Greil turned his gaze back to Oscar, who nodded. He paused a moment, then held out his hands to Boyd. "Give him to me, son." Boyd hesitated, looking at Oscar, and reluctantly boosted Rolf into the man's arms. Oscar noticed how gentle the man was, despite his warrior's build, and looked over at the campfire; a teenage boy of about Boyd's age and a small girl were playing with a ball, as another boy looked on.

Rolf muttered something miserably, and Titania, with a pained look, came up to the commander's side, laying a hand on the boy's back. "Titania, you'll stay here with the others," Greil said suddenly. "We'll be back soon."

"Yes, sir," she said immediately.

"Come along," was all Greil said to Oscar and Boyd as he started walking toward the town. Oscar looked at his brother, who released Lille's reins and immediately started following the man. This was somewhat mysterious, Oscar thought uneasily, but he followed along as well.

* * *

* * *

The healer's house was a very pleasant house, light and airy and full of the smell of herbs. "Oh, poor young one," she cooed softly as the commander laid Rolf down on her table. "Let's see... fennel, rue..." It would be an easy job for her to do, Oscar could see that much. Within minutes, she had used a staff to heal the wound on Rolf's leg, and was mixing a concoction for him to drink. "There we go, sit up a little," she said encouragingly, and held the bowl to Rolf's lips for him to drink.

Oscar snuck a glance at Greil. He stood impassively, arms crossed, watching the woman do her work. There was an air of control about him, the impression of great strength but also great compassion and understanding. It made Oscar wish this man had been present to see him help Titania that morning, if only so he himself didn't feel so miniscule.

"There! Much better, aren't we?" the healer asked Rolf.

The boy nodded, smiling. "I feel great!" He got down from the table, and very politely bowed to the woman. Oscar saw Greil smile very minutely. "Thank you, ma'am."

"You are quite welcome," she said after a moment, apparently taken aback. Her gaze turned to Oscar, brows raised, obviously expecting payment.

Oscar opened his mouth, but before he could even formulate something to say, much less say it, Greil stepped forward. "For your time, ma'am," he said, and placed several pieces of gold on the table. His look at Oscar and Boyd said enough: Let's go. The idea of doing anything else hadn't really occurred to Oscar anyway, and, trying not to let his jaw hang open, he took Rolf's hand and followed the commander out.

They walked down the main street together, Rolf skipping cheerfully, Greil leading. Oscar caught Boyd's eye; 'What now?' Boyd's expression said, and Oscar shrugged helplessly. In the presence of such a leader, he couldn't really think of what was going to happen next. Was the man intending to take his horse as payment? Oscar would have been grateful to trade anything to see Rolf this happy and healthy again.

When they got to the outskirts of the town, Greil slowed his pace, and, still walking, turned to Oscar. "I hear you're decent at wielding a lance, young man."

"I used to be in the Royal Knights," Oscar answered.

"Yes, that's what your brother said, wasn't it?"

His tone seemed musing rather than in question, and Oscar ventured, "Are you going to buy my horse, sir? We have to pay you back somehow, now."

They were approaching the mercenaries' camp, and Greil shook his head. "No, I had something else in mind. Titania!"

The red-haired knight heard her commander, and quickly came to greet them. "Yes, Commander?"

"Where are we off to next?"

"Port Toha," she answered promptly. "There were a some reports of bandits on the outskirts of town, and just last week I got a message from one of the elders asking for our help."

"Thank you, Titania," was his reply, and she nodded, smiling at Rolf as she went back to the camp. Greil turned to Oscar. "How do you feel about joining us?"

Oscar was stunned for a moment. "You mean... become a mercenary with you?"

All the man did was nod, and Oscar glanced over at his brothers. "But... I can't leave Boyd and Rolf behind." Boyd looked particularly fierce at this.

Greil chuckled. "I would never suggest that you should. My son and daughter travel with us, as does a young mage, a friend of my son's. We operate from a base closer to Melior, so the young ones don't usually see us fight." Oscar noticed that the boys were now talking together, the girl coming up to Titania to offer her flowers. "No, your brothers would be welcome."

Oscar opened his mouth, but couldn't find anything to say. Boyd excitedly jumped in for him. "Could I be a mercenary, too?"

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen! Well, almost fifteen."

"A year older than my son. Well," admitted Greil, "maybe in a while, yes. After you learn to fight."

"What about me?" Rolf chimed in.

Greil shook his head, smiling. "Many years." He turned back to Oscar, brows raised, and waited.

There was nothing else Oscar could say. There was nothing left for them in this town, even in their house, and his heart suddenly soared at the thought of leaving, going off to ride again, to help others. "Yes, sir. Please."

"Good." Just that one word, spoken in a pleased baritone, made Oscar want to fall to his knees and weep in thankfulness. As it was, he straightened, took Lille's reins, and followed his new commander into the camp as Rolf skipped between him and Boyd. The others looked up as they approached, but with interested faces. Goodbye, Father, he thought one last time, and grinned in exhilaration.


End file.
